Fresh
by Loise
Summary: Soujirou, set when he was still an assassin, kills...
1. Fresh

_AN:_ I haven't read many fics where Soujirou is still an assassin for Shishio, so I tried my hand at it.

_Disclaimer:_ Don't own it.

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**Fresh**

The blood of another was still fresh as he cut down another fleeing figure, the man shuddering as he fell to the floor. Blood dripped like tears on to the heavily packed floor, tread on by generations of farmers, their wives and children with the odd merchant or wanderer.

Breathing through tightly held lips, forced into a parody of a smile, Soujirou widened his smile as he felt the man's life dim and falter to death.

It was mildly satisfying to see a job end so well. _After all Shishio has said to leave no witnesses_. Laughing in the thin, crisp air, clotted with the smell of blood, Soujirou stepped forward, barely noticing when his foot, tabi speckled with the shopkeeper's blood, grazed the out stretched palm of a child, wide unseeing eyes tilted to the west.

Flicking his sword, a new wave of blood splattering across the plain wall, dripping to the highly polished bench, persistent. Ripping a sleeve of a glassy eyed woman's kimono, Soujirou calmly, in even strokes, the remaining blood. The smile stayed, fixated.

Sheathing the sword, he opened the door, sliding it open. it quickly closed behind him as he entered a quiet side lane, an old woman averting her eyes hurriedly and retreating inside as the sight of his sword. Whistling an off tune melody, radiating with pure shamelessness, his smile ever present as the aroma of death drifted.


	2. Corpse

**Corpse**

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In the woods, figures run, knowing that their life is being tracked by a silent deadly killer. Running because they fear death, fear them emptiness, fear...

It's their fear that makes them weak. One trips over his own fear and fumbling feet, a steady stream of sweat, cooling his over heated face. His plump face swivels around as his widen in terror, the harsh odour of fear rising heavily from his panting body.

Trying to stand his lest go a cry of pain, echoing a pig, his ankle collapsing under rolling layers of fat that make up his body. Eyes darting about, the trees giving no clue to the danger that he knows that is there.

It's closer now. Everything is much more quieter, as if the forest's animals and bird life know that making a sound, would be fatal. Absolute silence approaches.

He gasps, body stretched forward as the blade cuts deep into the back of his head, before his head flies off hitting a rotting trunk with a dull thud, red blood shining dimly in the moonlight, eyes still protruding with fear.

Blade held in front of him, body crouched over the sword, Soujirou smiles as head and strikes an almost genial conversational tone, "Well, Yomato, you seemed to have lost your head! Business dealings can make a person do the most unreasonable things... Shishio sends his greetings." Bowing over the crumpled figure, Soujirou prepared to hunt down another of Yomato's partners not looking back at the head staring up as the night sky the body paces away.

Soujirou takes the silence with him, to where others run, they know that there is no escape. But run as the fear surges ever higher, panicking as death approaches.

A tall, proud man loses his arm, screech high pitched and deafening as he clutches at the bloody stump. His vision blurs, caught of the baby blues eyes of a smiling young boy. He chokes on saliva and blood, as the katana slides through his ribs to his heart, the smile is the last thing he sees before all is taken over by red, then black.

Bowels unleash themselves as the last vestiges of life leave the body, a wet gurgling and putrid stench comes from the greasy man.

Leaving behind the man emeshed in his own bowels and blood, Soujirou was silent as he tracted down the third man, fleeing from the boy killer.

A sudden breeze rushes forward, wiping a droplet of blood from his eye lid, down his cheeek, a rank red trail of blood. Brushing his hair out of his face, Soujirou smears the blood across his cheek. The breeze also bring with it the smell of gunpowder.

Western gunpowder... The man, the last of this night's kills has a western rifle. _Interesting_, Soujirou thinks, _Shishio would find this intriguing_. Noting it away for further thoughts, Soujirou sped up quickly, quietly to the centre of the source.

Eyes narrowed at the rustling, a bent angular man leans forward, his crooked nose wet with perspiration. The moon shines eerily on his ivory hilted gun and the whorls imprinted on the gleaming exterior.

Smile lighing his face, Soujrious alights forward. Sword moving through the air in one massive action of speed and stength, a sliver of moonlight breaking through the dense cover of the dark leaves above and lighting upon the long blade in an arc of light. Red blood drips heavily as the western gun is rendered useless in the damp, weak hands of it's dying owner. Slipping to the undercover the burnished surface is marred quickly as bloody, dirty fingertips scramble for a weapon.

One final lurch for breath, a wet gurgling sigh and another dies under Soujirou's blade.

The assignment was done. There was nothing more for Soujirou to do. Agile as a cat, silent as a wolf, Soujirou disappears in the dark trees, the twisting shadows. Leaving behind, only, a bloody footprint and the dead men to rot.

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_AN: Thanks to all the kind reviews! I never expected that, so it was a great joy to read them. I've uped the rating due to content._

_Disclaimer: Sorry, down't own RK._


	3. Honour

**Honour

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_Some people are too dangerous to keep alive. Shishio... Was one of these people. He had a special instinct in knowing who could harm him, and he knew when it was time to strike when they were the most vulnerable._

_Blessings can be odd that way._

_And when it is your time to depart from the living, it was your time. Especially when death was by the katana of the Tenken, Soujirou.

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Sitting traditionally, with a sword laying across his lap, a peaceful if nervous expression on his aging face. Most of said face of the government official was lax, except for three tense worry lines on his inner forehead. They marked clear, deep lines into his skin.

They, brown eyes mostly calm snapped open. Staring into the darkness, the only light coming from the sliver of the moon, the plain brown eyes blinked slowly. Then, entire posture stiffened as if knowing, yet not seeing death approaching.

The official had made this vigil three times now, sitting in his room, alone and apart from his family. Dark shadows, under his eyes, were only deepened as he backed away from the light.

Every night Soujirou had watched this man, waiting until the third night when he would be weary and exhausted. It was near dawn, but still dark.

The middle aged man knew death was coming. He had made too many mistakes in a fragile world, he had been rocking the boat too hard. Too many people had noticed in their quiet way, now tonight, or maybe tomorrow, but soon he would face revenge and retribution.

Opening his eyes again, he gazed at the moon. The many shadowed facets, a mere slip in a crescent. The aging man seemed to shake in it's gaze.

From behind, Soujirou raised his katana, preparing to strike from behind and behead this man.

In the cool radiance of the moon, the official sighed.

Eyes widened as the rush of air hit his face from the swing of his blow. The sitting former samurai, skills weak from age and the modern West, had managed to deflect some of the blade's impact.

But not enough...

Gasping for air. his eyes bulging for his half hacked neck. His mouth wobbled, lips wet from saliva and blood.

"No..." A spasm of pain left him near silent. Soujirou watched him calming, willing to hear the last of the dying man's words. Resting on his blade, already embedded in the polished wood floors. "No Honour!" Came a near quiet exclamation from the shaking body.

Honour...?

Smiling, Soujirou shook his head, a small whispery laugh escaping his lips. _There is only the strong... And you are far too weak._

Shishio was right, Soujirou knew this as he yanked his katana out of the ground, leaving a large crack in the surface, but briefly similar worry lines had appeared on his smooth forehead.

Staring back at the half decapitated body, eyes blank and already milking over, body tense from the soul's departure, frowning lightly Soujirou...

Flew the scene of the crime as the shrill scream rocked the house.

Someone had noticed the blood, slowly leaving the room via the doorway.

Soujirou had fled, without remorse, a smooth face with a small smile lighting up his face as he heard the chaos behind him. _Shishio would be pleased_

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AN: Thanks to all the people who have reviewed, you're wonderful. The feedback has been excellent.


	4. Vow

_Thanks to all the reviewers. I don't own RK._

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Vow**

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Shishio.

Everything Soujirou did was for him. He couldn't imagine life, any other life or even him living, without Shishio. He had was everything that Soujirou needed, he was the strongest. In all the battles, skirmishes and fights that they had been in together or Soujirou had witnessed and there were many, Shishio had never been defeated.

Never. That was one truth held close to him, that the weak were fuel for the strong, that to survive was to be strong. Shishio had shown him this and over time had proved it ultimately to Soujirou.

A cut throat. Beheaded. A slice at the belly. Impalement. The slow cutting of limbs. Numerous ways of killing people and eager to see, to experience, Soujirou had watched it all under Shishio's dark gaze.

On the start of their journey together when Shishio had still been a heavily wanted man, and they had to hide, through Shishio still walked proud and would never shirk to kill someone, he still was cautious. Waiting for the right time. Then he wouldn't have to take back roads. Or send Soujirou into town to steal or buy food.

Shishio had threatened to kill him if he ran away, Soujirou honestly couldn't imagine it. He had stuck close to Shishio's side, never tarrying.

Every time he went into a village, a town, Soujirou was watched. Soujirou always smiled. He was alone and young, some people thought to argue or target him. They never succeeded. For one so young, Soujirou could be like steel.

People always gave him the correct change. While he still smiled, usually below their shoulders. Small hands, heavily calloused by farm work and practice, took the bundle of rice with a small nod, then left. He never dawdled. Soujirou never saw any reason to do so.

One time, he had stumbled upon a giggling couple hdden away from the road near the camp, when he was walking back to Shishio. They had been surprised to find him. So had he.

Shishio had burst behind a tree, beheading the lovers with two quick motions of his katana. They were stupid, going so close to Shishio. They had been a lesson.

They had all been weak. Those who had been killed and those who were going to be killed. It wasn't mercy, it wasn't justice. It was Soujirou's life.

He was a survivor.

Whether when he was weak, and stupid or when he was Tenken, and strong Soujirou had always survived. Always.

Soujirou drew a breath as he entered the training room. Shishio was already there, waiting for him, leaning casually but with alert eyes scanning him as soon as he arrived.

"Begin." A simple word, a simple command and Soujirou started moving before the word even ended.

_One stroke, two stroke, three stroke._

Every day Soujirou could, he practiced with his katana. Sometimes under Shishio, many time he was not. Since the day he had killed his family and Shishio had accepted him, Soujirou had practiced.

Back then he had only memories of his brother swinging a blade, over forcefully and clumsily, through back then, he couldn't tell. The blade in his hands was heavy, awkward, was slightly too big for him as he swinged up and down, his muscles in his arms burning from the unaccustomed use. Soujirou had persisted.

_Four stroke, five stroke, six stroke._

Shishio had guided his hands, his arms into the correct position with his freshly bandaged hands, it had hurt, but Shishio had done it anyway, to make him strong. It was harder some how, doing it correctly, but every day he practiced.

In the rain he practiced. When it snowed he practiced, wearing thin clothes so not to hinder his movements. In the heat of summer, the clothes now clinging and scratchy he practiced.

People watched him sometimes, but he always caught them. they weren't meant to watch, and he stopped, until they went away. Sometimes they stayed for hours, drunk of sake but awake and watching. Still, Soujirous stands and waits until they lose it, even if he has to miss dinner, miss sleep, he practices.

He tried so hard to be strong, not only that but to be better. To be strong.

The strongest. He had to move quick to survive.

Only then could he be strong enough.

_One thousand stroke_.

Soujirou paused, breathing steadily through open lips, his hair falling over his face.

A pace away, Shishio raised a hand. "Again, Soujirou, again."

Soujirou nods, I will be strong, he vows in his mind, I will.

_One stroke, two stroke, three stroke._


	5. SilverTongue

**AN:** Loving the reviews. Much thanks._ Italics_ are Soujirou's thoughts.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own RK.

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**Silver-Tongue**

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In the shadows, Soujirou watched as a young girl entered the room, her head bowed. She wore a plain off white kimono, with darker tabi. Padding across the floor, the girl's face lit up in a smile. Glancing guiltily around the room, not noticing Soujirou.

Opening up a small wooden box, two little teeth appeared as she grinned. With a slow gesture, servant ran the comb through her hair, another comb clasped in her hand.

Standing up she sighed, her hands toying with her kimono as she ran the glittering combs through her hair absentmindedly. She was young, slightly attractive and about to die.

Long dark hair whirled around as a pretty servant girl noticed a drawn blade, the light of the one lantern catching on the curved blade. It was dark shadow, that stretched across the wall far longer than the actual blade.

Dropping her mistress's pearl in laid combs, she stood up as the boy appeared behind the blade. Backing away, she could not stop the horrified gasp that escaped her lips. Hands to her trembling lips, she noted with terror that the young boy seemed to be smiling.

Opening her mouth to scream, it stopped, she stopped as a katana was thrust between her ribs, a hand covering her lips, muffling the dying sighs. Near dead she stared into the calm blue eyes of her killer before her body convulsed and then she slid slowly and jerking as bones and muscles were slid down the blade. Her fat tongue lolled out of her parted, bloody lips. Her hair swept around and covered the top part of her face, hiding her bulging eyes.

A door was slid open. A shadow of a woman stood there before she stepped into the light. She enters, unaware of what violence had just occurred. It was a geisha. Cheeks already pale, turn white as her gaze drifts to the dead girl, the blood and Soujirou.

Walking quickly to her side, it was her softly spoken words that stopped Soujirou in his tracts and from beheading her pretty head.

"Shishio..."

_She wasn't the informant_, Soujirou's thoughts drifted, _could the other girl have told her_? His smile took a bitter edge. _Well then_, he thought, _she would have to die also_. _But first_...

"How do you know that?" Soujirou pointed his katana at her bare throat, she stretched her neck back, as far as possible from the sharp blade.

The geisha swallowed hastily, "I - I heard some men, er, talking about him, they frequent here quite regularly. They spoke of him not so long ago." Fire took hold of her eyes, "You will take me to him, kid."

Smiling wryly, Soujirou pressed the katana to her throat a fraction harder, so a tiny cut appeared. _She certainly had nerve,_ he mused thoughtfully. Smiling at her brightly, Soujirou inclined his head in answer to the poised lady. She smiled a small tight smile, before brushing past him and collecting the blood splattered combs, still holding some black strands of the dead girl's hair with a frown and a twist of her lips. Grabbing a plain bag in odds with the surroundings she began to pack.

"He might not see you," Soujirou warned, his eyes taking her in.

"Shishio," she breathed, "He shall, I know this. That is why I am packing this. Everything I treasure, everything I have left. I shall not be returning."

"Yes, miss, however this turns out, you won't be returning." Soujirou laughed a little as her face paled. _Either she would be accepted by Shishio, or she would die. No one must see him unless they were loyal, or if they were about to die_. Soujirou wondered briefly if Shishio would kill her himself, or relegate the task to him. _No matter_, Soujirou smiled at this, _she would be dead_.

Drawing herself up, she gestured grandly at the door, "Let's go then," walking stately to the door, she stopped when Soujirou's palm pressed into her lower back.

"We shall not be going that way, miss," Soujirou then pointed to the window.

"Oh..." She appeared uncertain, her eyes reflected her nervousness and lips were twitching slightly. But when she swallowed her resolved returned, "Very well."

_The geisha was strong_. Soujirou noted, _but would she be strong enough for Shishio_?


	6. Unneccessary

_Unneccessary_

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Hoji was a spy. A government dog sent to investigate Shishio. The government was becoming... suspicious. They, of course, didn't know that Shishio had seen right through their plan and had started making his own. In his own way Hoji was useful, most of the information was useless but to keep the government fooled, sometimes... Well sometimes Shishio had to give up a few of his men.

Pawns, all of them, Shishio had insisted, his eyes lighting up as he gazed at Soujirou. With an eager nod, Soujirou had agreed. They were all but pawns and were so weak, and stupid that they were better off dead.

The next day Hoji had appeared pale and shaky, and Shishio had been slyly slick with his questioning that day. Hoji had fled, speaking of illness. It was the first time he had forgotten Shishio's disgust of people who had the flu, it was the first time he had stepped out of his little niche, the first time he had showed any glances of who he truly was.

Really, it had been the last, much to Shishio's interest and fury. Hoji was smarter than he sometimes appeared.

But he still had a job to do. One that Hoji still seemed to be committed in doing. It was a pity really, Soujirou thought, standing up and sheathing his katana, that he had chosen the wrong side. He could have been strong, in his own way at least.

There are many pities in the world however, as Soujirou had realized many years before. Most you couldn't change, others were made worst when you interfered.

Shishio had tired of Hoji's double agenc however and had concocted a scheme to test his loyalty and to finally see if he was true to Shishio.

There was only one reason for this. Hoji had not traded information with the government for the past three weeks. This was highly unusual.

Soujirou wondered why Shishio was allowing Hoji to leave, he was after all... so very weak. Nothing more than a government puppet. He had only himself to blame for this.

With a desperate plea in his voice, Hoji was bargaining with his life when Soujirou found him, cornered in a side alley by two uniformed police.

He killed them straight off, they had only been in the way. Hoji stared at them for a moment before in a rush, thanking Soujirou for saving him.

Hoji had wanted to leave then, had nearly brushed past Soujirou in his haste to get away. perhaps he was stopped by the slightly different, the colder light in Soujirou's eyes.

Smiling like nothing had happened, Soujirou flicked his sword at a nobody's door. The blood was soaked quickly into the coarse materials. Hoji's eyes followed the few droplets of blood that made their way to the filthy gutter.

Shuddering under a mask of hallowed eyes, Hoji glared at Soujirou, looking at the boy with disgust.

But Soujirou just continued to smile, like nothing had happened.

"Shishio will let you live, but only for my witness Hoji. Remember that, when you go to sleep tonight and be thankful that Shishio sent me to find you. Be very thankful to Shishio, or I might forget."

The next day, Hoji renounced the government and was embraced under Shishio's wing. He had taken Souirou's words to heart. He had thought much that night, so deep shadows lurked under his frantic, near sane gaze.

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AN: Very sorry about the late update, the next will come quicker. Than you for all the lovely comments. 


	7. Lone

_Lone

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"Yay! Soujirou! I've heard so much about you, Yumi has been prattling on about you all day!" The girl giggled as she slung an arm around Soujirou, her body bouncing against his warmly, "But, I reckon you're just too cute be to be a killer!" Her hair bobs as she gives him a small peck on his cheek.

Still walking, Soujirou ignored the body that was trying to curve around his own, her eyes were alight with amusement as Soujirou shoved her off him. "I don't intend to wait for you, Kamatari, this a test mission, if you fail, I'll kill you, if someone already hasn't."

Eyes grew more serious, but Kamatari still smiled incessantly, "Oh really? Well, to tell you truth, I'm much more interested in Shishio, than Yumi," a deeper giggle sprang for her lips.

She swung her arm around Soujirou's neck, "But really," she whispers, the air brushing against his ear lobe, "I can easily settle for you, my dear boy Soujirou, you'll be quite the treat."

He let her slide her tongue down his neck as her eager, tense eyes watched his closed off face stiffen and his eyes closed. Katamari was very surprised when she found herself sprawled on the floor, a cool smile gracing Soujirou's face.

"I could kill you right now for that, Shishio certainly would. We both know that you are a man, however you hide it Katamari, we can sense it in you, however you hide it." His cold eyes met her, "I would be best if you behave from now on."

Kamatari pouts, "You're mean. Soujirou, oh so very mean." She leans her head to the side, "I think I like you, you may be a ruthless killer, but at least you are cute!" Another senseless giggle and Soujirou resists the urge to sigh.

"Come along, time does not hold for any of us Kamatari. If you do not hurry I will have to tell Shishio about this and what might he think?" Soujirou tilts his head to the right and smiles charmingly at her.

Gaping slightly, Kamatari resumes a standing position, "Of course," she says in a quieter tone, "We must hurry... for Shishio."

Seeing some sense is beginning to take over Kamatari, Soujirou nods and turns away from her, striding forward. He didn't see the flash of lovelorn affection passing through her eyes for Shishio, and even if he did, he would have never recognized it, having never been loved.

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The man had been portly, with a warm open expression on his face when Soujirou had entered from the shadows, Kamatari still outside waiting for his word to enter and kill.

Smiling at the dim, devious man had done nothing to assure the flash of fear and weakness that crossed the official's face as Soujirou stepped closer.

"I"m not going to kill you," Soujirou had stated, taking a perverse thrill in seeing the man relax, another one of his oily smiles welcoming Soujirou, offering him tea.

"No," Soujirou simply said, "Another will be doing that for me." He stood back as the man began whimpering in his seat and Kamatari's figure formed reality, a dark shadow, with white teeth glinting in a rabid smile.

The official, like so many who had betrayed Shishio, figuring Shishio to be a mere madman they could easily control to their own liking and advantage. He pleaded for his life, wide eyes desperate and fearful. A foul stench erupted from the official's bowels as his knees collapsed under him and he fell into a quivering ball.

Slow and steady Kamatari approached, her eyes keeping fear alight in the fat, paper pusher. Leaning in close, ignoring the smell of urine, she whispered proudly, "For Shishio!"

He smiled as Kamatari murdered the middling, meddling official. She was far more sombre as she half split the man in two. One of his eye balls popped out, only attached to the body by a thin thread of pink tissue.

"That's good, Kamatari, I'm sure Shishio will be very pleased," Soujirou murmured as Kamatari stepped away from the blood and body and smiled at him.

"Yes, I did well, that's what matters now, Soujirou, that I do well," the smile breaks for a moment as she retreats outside, "You have to do well, too, Soujirou, Shishio needs that too," she smiles again, this time harder.

"Yes," Soujirou says, throwing one glance backward at the easily killed body, "I must, for Shishio."

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AN: I suppose all I can say that this update did come quicker than the last, through it took over a month. Thank you once more to all the reviews. 


	8. Growth

_Growth_

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It was dusk, the blue sky was gradually fading into mauve streaked generously with orange, yellow and pink. The trees were dark shadows shivering in the light breeze, their branches filled with the life of the forest. 

He did like the outside. He felt more at home outside, more comforted by the sounds and smells of nature than real people ever could. He had no memory of being comforted, just being told what to do. Failure so often resulted in injury, where all he had was himself to care for. There was no one but himself, this continued long after Shishio met him, and took him in.

Soujirou, had not one scar on his body from an opposing enemy. He refused to think of Shishio as an enemy, all scars inflicted by Shishio had been in training. His training had ended when he was fourteen, when Shishio had declared him proficient and since then Shishio hadn't drawn blades with Soujirou.

Two nobodies were found dead, their black uniform slowly cut away from their body, as with their skin. Their eyes had been burnt away. It was said that they had been speaking of why Shishio never battled with Soujirou. They said... That Shishio would surely lose against the power, speed and randomness of the attack that Soujirou could now inflict.

No one spoke of this instance, through all knew of the two's death, as the bodies were shown for near a year, for all to beware. Soiujirou himself never knew, he never commented on the bodies as some would expect him. He just smiled, like he always did. Like they expected him to.

He disappeared that day.

The grass was new and smelled sweet. It was spring, and these were the great grand children of the first brave shoots that had dared to brave winter's fury. They were vivid green and full of life. Soujirou smiled.

No other felt like dueling with him, once they saw him fight. The battle would end in humiliation and defeat, it would serve no purpose... They were all afraid of him.

Oh yes... Everything still smelled new, and fresh. Even the blood. Hand out stretched, Soujirou stroked the grass, still wet with blood.

Spring's glory had also brought about a new batch of traitors and enemies, people who had boiled and stewed over Winter before unleashing what could have come Shishio's downfall.

They died, died, died...

In the mountains, people were afraid of the smiling boy killer and his master. They whispered the names in fear and stayed silent when someone didn't return home from the forest. The Meiji was helpless as the villages pleaded for their lives.

Shishio had come, to a village with the hot springs. He had ordered the village to be taken over, by himself, Soujirou had taken over and delivered the heads, as commandeered of those who dared defied. He had fulfilled his promise to spill their blood, Soujirou wouldn't dare break a promise like that.

They left, leaving some nameless strong man in charge. Both Shishio and Soujirou, especially Soujirou, could not have cared less what could have happened there. What atrocities that were to surely come. Rape, pillage, murder... It was a move, to sure the Meiji, that Shishio could do what he wished.

And the Meiji stayed silent. Rumours started of a power of the old days of the Revolution. Shishio promised a new Revolution. The Meiji, in it's elaborate cages and confines feared the end of their days.

Soujirou stared upwards, one hand clasping at the mixed strands of bloodied hair and stained grass, the other holding his katana in a stern grip. Mercy, they had called, before dying a coward's death.

In a clearing, a dozen bodies lay, only one was alive. A boy called Soujirou, a smile of his pale killer face. He slept among his dead, as the sounds of the forest resumed, shaken from the stupor that his killings had created.

Their screams had silenced the birds calling their mates, the hatchling calling for more food, more food, more food! The flittering and fluttering of the first butterflies, once hidden and now shaking, sought the last light. Small mammals returned to much down of the new grass, or care for a new litter of younglings.

There was one who witnessed this. A man of the Juppongatana, Chou, was sent by Shishio to see the Tenken in action. Some would have been frightened to the extent that they would have emptied their bowels. Chou had felt the cold grip ofthe Tenken's eyes on himselfbut he had refused to look away as Soujirou had saluted him with the one bloodied blade, a shame to his many dead as he again and again disrespected, andsmiled, as if he hadn't killed. He had looked like the boy he was, if you dismissed the bodies sprawled and broken around him.

He had spoken, lilting and clear, "Welcome, to the true path." Chou could not understand as the boy had started to make camp, just lying in the grass, his katana crossing his belly.

"Shishio, he knew you were strong, did he not? You are strong, Chou, don't become weak. I'm afraid I would have to kill you. It would be a waste of me, to kill someone strong, don't you think, Chou?"

For once in his life he had stayed silent. His mother would faint into hysterics, if he hadn't buried her over ten years ago. His father would have hit him over the head, just because he could. But he was dead too, dead by Chou's own hand. He had left his own village after killing his own father, he had only returned when he heard it had been attacked by the shadowy Shishio. He had seen his mother's memories and had pledged himself to Shishio.

It pleased him, even through his mother would have despaired. She had hated violence of all kinds, he supposed it came from a life time of being beaten by a father and a husband. For years he had wandered, killing, fighting, for money, for pleasure. The first katana he had stolen had been his father's, he had later killed his father. He had removed all evidence, including himself by theft and flight from his home.

So still, he seemed part of the forest, he stayed still for most of the night, not daring to leave Soujirou and too wary to come any closer to the assassin.

Shishio's path then.

The forest returned to life, save for that small clearing... A boy sleeping, surrounded by bodies, as a wild man watched the boy, afraid and excited at all the same time.

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AN: I would have to say this was the strangest of all of these... Well, this update certainly came quicker than usual and much longer... 


	9. Guilt

_Guilt

* * *

_

She shivered as he entered the room and continued with the task at her fingertips. Soujirou watched her, smiling a light smile. His haori was covered in blood, so he started to remove it. He let go and fell to the floor with a rustle of fabric with the unpleasant sound of blood soaked clothing.

Smiling he sat down beside her, taking one of his hands in his own. "I'm the Tenken, you can call me Soujirou. You would like that." His grip tightened as she tried to pull away, her body shivering away from his touch.

Breathing quickly, a small sob escaped her lips and she collapsed, shuddering and shaking. Soujirou, still smiling pleasantly, gathered her up in his arms. "Oh," he whispered, against her black hair, "You're so _weak_." He said it with a rare display of emotion, disgust, but still he smiles, to a stranger, he would have seemed innocent.

"I can't help it. You scare me, you do," she looked up, "How can I not? You're, you're an assassin and... You've killed hundreds! You've probably even lost count..." She returned to staring at everything but Soujirou.

"No, no, no. I would never count. What would be the point?" He shrugged, "That's a sign of weakness, of ego. I _can't_ show weakness... You understand?" He asks her roughly as if daring her to show him that she disagreed.

Before answering, she makes a high pitched mewling sound of fright, "Yes, the strong survive, I know. It's all I ever hear, in this place, it is nothing but strength. And I have none."

"No," he says carefully, "You don't, you should be nothing, you should be worthless, you should be dead. But, you're not." He sounded confused, but sure of himself all the same. He knew she ought to be dead, in his mind at least.

He smelled like blood, she realized, fresh blood. It was damp against her cheek, mixing a few tears she hadn't been able to keep locked up. He was also very warm, almost too warm, like he had a fever. He was burning, she realized, burning himself away. Soon he would be nothing.

"I didn't see what reason Shishio kept for Yumi, for such a long time," he said quietly, now playing with her hair thoughtlessly, pulling and tugging, hurting her without even realizing her pain. Or maybe he did, and just liked hurting people, it wouldn't surprise her. He was a horrible person after all.

Holding back a wince, she murmured, "It's her body he desires and that is what makes her strong in his eyes, the curves of hip, the swell of the breasts and the dip of a belly." She states coldly, knowing exactly what men wanted with a woman's body and hating it all the same.

"I never understood, I can never understand..." He said softly, staring at with wide eyes. So childlike, she muses sadly, but a ruthless killer, he's _evil_.

"I'm sure you will one day, Soujirou," is all she says however, taking a light tone. "All men, boys... do one day, it's part of their nature, to take..." She trails off as she remembers her sister, all the girls here know what happened to poor Shina, they all take it as a warning. She sees it as a threat to herself and tries to hide away, not become what her sister did, yet another victim.

"Really?" He whispers more to himself, than her. "I've seen him kiss her, put his tongue in her mouth and makes her moan. She likes what he does to her. Don't you think it would be icky?"

He kisses her then. Rough, rude and sudden, she feels the back of her head slam of wooden floor as he tried to force her closed lips apart. She fights back tears as another sob nearly breaks away. He licks her lips and she reluctantly lets him in her mouth, hating the way he feels against the inside of her mouth.

Soujirou sighs and looks at her, a small smile on his wet lips. "Do you like it? Shishio can make her happy, with his kisses..." It sounds like he has never know happiness.

She is trying not to fight, to break free from his grasp. She is trying not to cry, to let loose of all the emotions that are tearing through her.

This boy-man loves to smile, it's no emotion he shows but the distinct lack of emotion. His hands, are pressing into her waist, he sits up and pulls her into his arms. He's cooler than before, but still far too warm.

"Shishio, he holds her sometimes, I wonder what it feels like? Yumi, Yumi... Kamatari loves Shishio, he hates Yumi. They can never be happy, even when one dies, the other will be sad for what the other has, have."

"You sound so certain of their deaths," she whispers, "Will they be dying soon, Soujirou?" She says his name for the first time and his hands press harder into her flesh as if driving his name into her skin.

"Everyone dies, Toshi, everyone dies." She shudders as he says her name, but he continues none the less, "One day, you'll die. You're grow weak, and die." He tilts his head and looks at her, raking his eyes over her as if she is a commodity he will sell, "You're still young, older than me, but young. Perhaps, one day I will have to kill you. Wouldn't that be strange?"

The question is posed with innocence, but Toshi cannot help but shudder, feeling weaker with every moment she spends with him. "I-I don't know. I don't want to find out."

"You should." He kisses her neck. "Do you like this?" Ever the emotionless killer. His every touch repulses her, she can't stand this. It's like seeing her sister again, and she hates her duty. In the darkness of her own mind, she asks, Shina, dear sister, how did you stand this? She recalls the madness and the screams, the slaps and thumping. His hand press in tighter and she finds it hard to breathe.

"Yes!" She gasps, tears stinging at her eyes, "I do! Please don't hurt me. I'll do what... you want, just please... don't hurt me, like..." She stops and looks away.

"They've hurt you, haven't they, Toshi? They hurt you when your sister was taken to be their servant. Those you are stronger, always dominate the weak," he laughs, mirthlessly and gives her a small, cold smile, "They will take whatever they please from you Toshi, because of your weakness."

She is sobbing now, into her hands as he grip loosens. She tries to break free, but Soujirou just grabs her again and scolds her. "Don't be a child... Toshi."

Toshi is still crying when he lays her on the blood soaked, sodden haori. Her plain blue kimono is quickly stained further. She feels the blood seep through the material on her back, touch her skin, mark her. She struggles, but finds it hopeless, against Soujirou and his calm strength.

"Shall I tell you how I killed them? How they cried and wept, like the weaklings they are? They all begged for their lives, but they were dead the moment the order was issued from Shishio's mouth. He wanted to die slowly, to feel their crimes," Soujirou laughs, "Oh, I have to tell Shishio all of this..."

He stand and stares at her with a curious expression of his face. "You're weak, but... you'll do."

"What, what do you mean?" She shakes her head, "I don't understand, what do mean? What am I to do?" She sounds afraid and knows it.

"Get up," he orders and she stands, "I need someone to take care of my clothes, my meals... Shishio has others, Yumi... And Yumi felt that I needed a servant too, as Shishio's right hand man." Says the boy killer.

"I..."

"Good. That will be all," he picks up his haori and leaves, smiling at her like a child all the time. She can't help but feel frightened, even when he smiles like he does. The bloody haori is all the proof she needs of his guilt.

* * *

"They are dead." Shishio says when he enters the room, that Shishio calls his own, his sleeping quarters, through few have ever seen him sleep. To many, among the lower ranks and even among the high, Shishio seemed to live of the flames that near consumed his body. It frightens them, but makes them feel safer, knowing they have the Shishio as their leader.

"Yes. They begged. They always beg. Why is that Shishio?" Soujirou asks calmly, the smell of blood almost overwhelming, but like many an assassin, he is used to it. Blood never seemed to worry Soujirou in the aftermath, it was only after it dried that it had to be removed, frantically, he hated the sight of dry blood on his skin, even when it wasn't his blood. Perhaps it was misplaced guilt, perhaps it was simply a matter of being clean.

Shishio doesn't answer however, just stares and smirks and the boy.

The answer is always clear... weak. They are all weak.

"Did you act upon Yumi's suggestion?" Shishio smiled, "She would be most pleased if you stopped walking around like some beggar, I could care less, but appearances are important... Even if all those who important who see you, will soon be dead."

Carefully, Soujirou nods, then smiles brightly. "It was a good idea. I have picked someone who should do well at their new job, she should, for her brother's sake. He can barely hold a katana and his aim is horrible. Perhaps if she is good, he will live. Her sister is long dead, she has no one else. Perhaps she should have no one at all, accidents could become frequent..."

There is a long silence as Shishio muses over this, his hand straying to the hilt of katana every other moment.

"You become stronger every day Soujirou..." Is all he says in the end, soft but sharp and deadly at the same time.

Soujirou beams and bows in gratitude.

* * *

_Name Meanings_

Shina - virtue, good

Toshi - Mirror Image

-

AN: Now, wasn't that strange? Soujirou was a bad bad boy...


	10. Killer

_Killer

* * *

_

Kyoko remembered well the days of the Bakumatsu, where killers roamed the streets and those streets were fiercely guarded. Every night, for years it seemed, she would hear the yell of attack turn into the cries of men who were dying. Those too, were silenced shortly.

More often than not sure would awake in morning to find the door splattered with the blood of the dead men, through the bodies were usually taken by the time she woke.

It was a tiring task, a disgusting one that she did not relish, cleaning off the blood before making breakfast. Sometimes her next door neighbour, a woman with a husband who could not speak, would share glances as they removed the blood before it could be soaked into the very grains. They hated the task, they despised, despaired that they were removing the blood of their so called protectors or the blood of the people disturbing their peace and rest.

Her husband was gone long hours, many times he would not return for fear for being caught on the streets, when the Wolves prowled. Kyoko understood that, but she hated being alone, alone with a young toddler and a babe at her breast. She couldn't protect them by herself.

They needed the money. Kyoko and her husband were of a poor artisan class, her parents had been killed by a samurai when she had been seven and her mother's family had reluctantly accepted her. Her aunt now, wanted nothing of her, now she was married. Her husband's parents had died of disease and he had been raised by a family already over burdened by children. Food and clothing were in short supply. They knew they could expect little from both.

She wondered sometimes, if it was right to bring up children in this world. Kyoko had considered going to her aunt and taking the bitter tea that would wash her worries away, as with her baby. No, she would be poor, but she needed her children.

When she was alone at night, the quiet whimpers of her newest babe could calm her, even knowing that this baby knew that it would be unwise to be noisy and attract unwanted attention. It pained her, that she could never know if they would wake up dead in the morning.

That had happened to an elderly couple, their young grandchild Tomo and a cur from the streets just a cross the narrow alley, two doors down. Everyone, now feared for their lives, and muffled and slapped their children when they yelled. It would do no good, if they cried now, only to die.

The Bakumatsu was over.

Kyoko had laughed when she realized that she hadn't washed the blood off her walls and door for a year. A year, without kneeling in the dirty ground and staining her fingers pink, a year!

She was relieved that she could finally kiss her children and try to soothe them instead of placing a hand over their mouth and pinch their soft skin to keep them silent.

It was night time and she cried when her husband was home, having braved the streets of Kyoto and returned safe.

A smile graced her lips when she realized she was with child again and never thought of visiting her aunt, she now didn't need to. She could be happy, for the days of blood were over.

Dreaming... dreaming, her eyes closed and her husband warm and possessive. Her children sleeping, snoring, snuggling, all young.

Only her eldest remembers their mother crying, tears streaming down a sad face. As she tried to get the blood that wasn't hers, blood that she hadn't shed, but nonetheless off her hands. It's a distant memory and mother is always smiling now, she has to be happy.

A scream. In the middle of the night. At the sound of a blade meeting flesh and the distant splatter of blood.

Eyes open, Kyoko stares into the night woken by a sound, a feeling that happened so long ago, so many times. She could never forget.

Her family is asleep. She stares at her husband and kisses him once on his temple. Standing up, clad in a thin sleeping kimono, she walks to the door.

There is at least one person out there, she can hear them breathing, she can hear them wipe blood of their katana, she hears the blood hit her walls.

Screaming she wrenches the door open. Breathing harshly she is confronted by a boy, half bowed, still cleaning his katana.

He raises his head and smiles. He can't be, she thinks, much older than her eldest. He's a child.

Blood, on her walls and door, she eyes are drawn to the all too familiar pattern. It's beautiful as well as deadly painful, tears well up in her eyes.

Two bodies lay not far from where she stands, one is beheaded and the other has a great gaping hole where his heart should have been.

The boy smiles and vanishes. The only way she knows he is still near is the katana piecing her eye and as she falls to the ground, no longer even trying to breath, her one remaining useful eye catches a glance of the blood of the walls...

At least, she thinks, I won't ever have to clean the blood away again. She dies, her mouth wide open, open in another scream that she never heard.

Kyoko doesn't hear her husband shout with rage as he sees her fallen form on the ground, bloody and broken as a mere boy smile impishly and draws his katana out of his wife's head. It comes out with the dreadful sound of the breaking of bones, and the release of blood.

The blade is withdraw, still wet and warm with her life blood, and is plunged into the gut of her bellowing husband, then his throat is cut open and the screaming ends.

The children remain silent as they become orphans.

* * *

In the morning, the neighbours can not meet the children's eyes, as they wander aimlessly about. The police come, frantic messages are sent to Tokyo but the wide eyed blankness never leaves the children's eyes.

That previous night, when Kyoko and her husband were killed by a boy, they all stayed in their beds even when woken by a woman's heartbreaking screams and her husband's yells of anger and grief.

They never knew that it was a boy. For all they it could have been the person in the house, they never peeked out of their windows, they never slid their door open to see if they could help.

Their minds were too stooped with memories of the Bakumatsu. They remembered how Kyoko had washed the blood away from her house, they had all washed away blood from their own dwellings.

It brought back so many memories of a time few remembered with happiness. It brought back memories of the dead, the grandparents and Tomo, the dead mongrel.

Those memories were forever tied now with present, as the past began to repeat itself in the future.

For three days, not a word was said about the still blood stained walls. No one now resided there, the children had been taken away to live with relatives.

Many residents simply refused to acknowledge the walls that had once housed a happy household, and a neighbour. It was easier to forget.

Until, near two weeks had passed, the walls began to be washed away. The widow of a husband who could not speak, cleaned the walls and the door. The blood had all been red, so she could not be knowing if she was washing away the blood of Kyoko and her husband, or the blood of the two strangers.

She would never know, their faces had been slashed after their deaths so none but one who had woken up against that face every day could possibly remember and recognize, even then it was a long shot.

It was blood, and she was thankful it was not hers.

* * *

The two were easily killed, through one of them screamed, they were poor at their defense and thus Soujirou had moved away from their clumsy blows and delivered their death.

Soujirou had sensed her ki, as well the ki of her family and her neighbours, but it still had mildly startled him when she had appeared above him, her eyes wide and horrified.

Her face had briefly clouded over as her eyes were drawn to her face. People often expected the Tenken to be older, it suited Soujirou that they would never guess. That was why he was good at doing what he did, killing for a living, because he could blend in. People gazed at his face and never suspected that someone as young as Soujirou could be a killer, a very proficient one too.

Shishio, with his body wrapped with bandages and his tall frame, had a difficult job fitting in. However, Shishio preferred being a stand out while Soujirou felt inclined to stick with shadows.

Then her eyes had flickered to where the blood had splattered her house. A deep regret and mourning had flashed in her eyes and for a second Soujirou had wondered what she was thinking about.

She was to die, of course. It was too soon for someone to see his face and see him kill, especially in Kyoto. There were too many who would fear for themselves and point a finger at him, shrieking that he was man of Shishio's. Still there were people who thought Shishio stupid, a tool. They were utterly mistaken.

The katana had went through her eye smoothly, he had felt her body crumple, even as an echo of her scream stung his ears and reverberated. Her body still grasped his katana when a man appeared, yelling.

Judging by his similar state of undress, how his eyes were frightened but angry and his frantic hand gestures this man would be her husband. Soujirou had killed the wife, it was time to kill the husband.

With a quick gesture Soujirou had stabbed him in gut, the blade easily sliding past the skin, finding no barriers, like bone, then slit his throat to end his dying cries. A job well done.

He looks over at the rest of the crowded community. Every house in silent, even the one where he had committed murder, not a light graces a window.

Soujirou smiles, this was strength, the power to fear and immobilise.

Still smiling, he flicked his blade at the wall and turned away, walking quickly. Soujirou never saw the blood drip down the wood leaving long trails that stained and marked walls, before pooling around four bodies.

He was quite a distance away from the four murders, when Soujirou heard the cry of a child, a young child was screaming.

This time no one dared to stop the child, even though a killer still treaded past their homes. How times change. So the child continued to wail into the night, distubing the neighbours that had not raised a hand to help their Kyoko and her husband. Soujirou, the killer, wandered free...

* * *

AN: Yet another strange chapter. This was inspired by the memory of OVA Trust and Betrayal, how the blood would have to be cleaned away, but by who? Hmm, I was wondering how long do you think these ficlets should go on for? 


	11. Beauty

_Beauty_

* * *

Yumi never saw Shishio perform the kata. The only time she was allowed to see him use his sword was when was proving a point or killing someone. She didn't mind seeing people die, that much. But she hated the blood. How it seemed to crawl to her. How it stained everything and took ages to get out of kimonos if they were not ruined.

In Soujirou she could admire his pure form and grace. He was faster than he could see, but when he knew that she was feeling depressed or Shishio was particularly kind and asked him to, he would show her what he could do with his katana.

She marveled in his speed, in his fluid motions. The only beauty she knew was the beauty of the body. She was beautiful but this was a different kind.

He seemed to perform it without fear, without doubt, without anything at all. Sometimes she wondered about his past. Shishio when questioned had simply smiled and said he had picked the boy up some years ago. It didn't really answer the question only raised more. But he had started caressing her arm and so she had stopped persisting. Maybe she had thought much later, there was a reason why he couldn't tell her.

It was never raised in conversation again but Yumi still wanted to know why this mere boy was so brave, so loyal and so much of a killer. He was rudimentary educated in the way a person should be educated in, he knew how to read and write as well as decipher codes and the like. However Soujirou has little interest in history and myth, of anything in the past. He seemed not to care of the great figure of the past. Soujirou, Yumi had sniffed to herself once a few years ago, had no culture.

The only future that Soujirou saw was for Shishio. He never thought of himself. The others thought of their own goals and made a future that was part of Shishio's but never wholly his. Even she wanted more than mere control of Japan.

If nothing else she wanted Shishio to love her. Yumi knew that she wasn't very brave or strong and couldn't do what Kamatari could do, fight. But she tried her best to make the hide out comfortable and grand. Yumi wanted more, she wanted to be something more than his mistress. She didn't care for her life, she only wanted Shishio to be happy as he had made her.

* * *

Soujirou wasn't exactly sure why he was having tea with Yumi. A tea ceremony she had corrected earlier. He had tried, half heartedly at best, but why would he need to know this? He hadn't see any reason and had stopped trying.

Yumi had stopped trying to teach him and now sat with a small frown on her forehead. Soujirou remembered once Shishio saying that women ought never to frown, it made them ugly and weak. He had never fully understood the saying, but there was some truth in it. Yumi did not look good with a frown and Soujirou felt discomforted by it.

"Why are you frowning?"

"Oh," Yumi made a sound of surprise. "I don't - I wasn't - " She stopped and looked at Soujirou with puzzled look passing over her face before she resumed her normal calm.

"Soujirou," she murmured softly, "I don't know anything about you. Tell me how you joined Shishio, please, maybe then I could help him more. You were the first, to join him, weren't you? You're still the strongest of the ten."

He was smiling, like he always did, but Yumi sensed something underneath the smile. "I was about eight, or ten. I never really knew my age."

Nodding, Yumi said, "You were very young then, nearly a child."

"Yes," Soujirou inclined his head, "I believe that's what people would call me." He smiled again, "I was cleaning up my wounds, I had been beaten by my half brother, I was bastard and they hated that they father had slept with a whore. They hated me." A small laugh. "Shishio threatened to kill me, I smiled and then he ordered me get some bandages. He was so strong."

"I heard," Yumi edged, "That at that time he was being chased by the police? Was still happening when he met you?" She looked at the profile of Soujirou.

"That's right, people were out to kill Shishio, but no one could, because he's just way too strong!" Soujirou laughed, a hint of admiration running through his voice. "My family found out, about Shishio and how I was hiding him from the police and officials. They wanted to kill me. They would have, because I was weak, if Shishio hadn't given me this." He shows her a blade and she looks at well crafted metal. She memorizes it's particular shape.

"They sent my brother to where I was hiding and I killed him. He shrieked. They thought it was me. I came out and I killed them. All of my family. It was raining. I got soaked."

She wonders what she can say to this. "Oh..." It doesn't seem right, nothing does. "So Shishio then took you on? As an apprentice?" She asks weakly.

"Not quite, but close enough. I can never say my thanks to Shishio enough, he showed me how weak I was being, how weak I was being for letting my weak family hurt me. He showed me his strength and made me strong."

Strong...?

* * *

Shishio had heard Soujirou tell his story to Yumi. He had not been surprised, when Yumi wanted something, he knew she went out to get it. Her silence had troubled him, but when she and Soujirou had joined him for dinner, she had been her normal self. Serving the dinner, looking beautiful and being mostly silent. That was different but Soujirou seemed not to notice.

"Soujirou," he started, and the boy popped his head up, looking eager and happy. He always looked the same, it was one of his greatest skills, this child killer. To mask his emotions with the ones of a young child and then kill without mercy. Sometimes Shishio wondered if the boy actually knew what he was doing or all death seemed a game to him.

"Yes, Shishio?"

"You are to go to Tokyo. The former Battousai is there. He lives at a run down dojo with a few others." Shishio ordered.

"Am I to recruit him, Master Shishio?" Soujirou asked.

"No, not this time, we'll leave that for later. The government wants to try first, we'll let them," Shishio laughs and Yumi joins in. "We'll let them try, they want to bring out the manslayer within him. They're sending a Wolf."

"His old former enemies..." Soujirou mutters, "Do you think that will work, Shishio?"

Shishio smiles, "To defend himself against a killer, the Battousai will have to become a killer. There is no other way. He may be able to beat petty criminals, but the Wolves had more than poor skills. They were dangerous, I saw many men die by their hands. The Battousai will fight hard against the Wolf, even when he is tied with a leash."

"I see. What else I am to do?" Next to him, Shishio smirked. The boy was getting smart, able to understand and see that the trip to Tokyo was more than pleasant sightseeing stroll through the city. Seeing the Battousai that is.

"There will be an assassination. You will be the one who will carry it out. You are the only one who can, Soujirou, when you get to Tokyo, the dates and person will be given to you."

Soujirou smiles, "Good. I will leave now, or in the morning?" He looks ready to leave the table at once if Shishio orders it.

"No, stay, we have time to spare."

Quickly, as if the former conversation never happened, the trio begin eating calmly again.

* * *

Yumi watched as Soujirou left that morning, her mind still going back to what she had been told and what she had seen.

His mind didn't comprehend what he had done yet, she realized, he's still stuck in the mind of his former child self. He's grown up since then, but regarding emotions he hasn't former any since it was better to hide them.

She was horrified but still intrigued. Her mind wandered over to when she had seen him perform his kata.

The beauty, the brilliancy of his form. The fluid motions and the incredible speed. That was Soujirou.

* * *

AN: Want to thank all of my reviewers, reading them makes me smile. This is a softer version of Soujirou, through probably not as fine as some would have wanted it. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading it. 


	12. Shadows

_Shadows

* * *

_

The moon was full as Soujirou ran through the forest, he paid no care to the few sounds that he made. There was no one about. The dark trees would have scared a brave as the wind blew them, creating haunting sounds. In near by villages people huddled by their fires and dared not go outside. Demons were said to be walking the night's winds.

He stopped. Breathing slightly faster than normal, he looked around and smiled. Graves, he shook his head, what was the point? The weak are dead. There is no resting while you are alive and once you are dead, what does it matter?

Resting against a tree, he waited. The moon set and the stars faded into the shine of the day as the sun rose into the lightening sky. Soujirou was patient and only watched the sun pass over him with a careful eye. He was only interested in the time not wasted time.

It was nearly sunset when he heard a slight noise to his left. Not changing his expression, he stood up from where he had been sitting and faced the approaching man.

Slightly stooped, with a long nose and cunning eyes, the man was old but moved with surprising agility. He stopped in front of Soujirou, pausing, before dipping his back in a brief bow.

"You are the one they call Tenken?" He asked, knowing the truth of the young man before his eyes, "The one who seeks knowledge of the Battousai?"

"That is what I am called, old man and I do seek information, get on with it." His tone with pleasant enough, the old man thought, but underneath there was a sheer nothingness that sent a small shiver down his spine. The Tenken could not be trusted.

"I am Hashimoto Kensuke of the Eastern Yakuza in Tokyo," he bowed again, by no means did he consider himself lesser than the boy, but the boy must be arrogant and so would be appeased at his sign of submission.

When he raised his head the boy was still staring at him, with but a small smile of his face. Hashimoto felt a small sting of annoyance, but only a flicker of true emotion flashed very briefly in his eyes, before he become welcoming once more.

"I told you to get on with it," the Tenken said. Hashimoto was frowning inside. Wouldn't say his name, eh? He thought, narrowing his eyes, what was so wrong?

"Yes. Kenshin Himura, the one known as the Battousai is residing in a run down dojo." He started.

"A dojo? Hmm, continue." Soujirou murmured, before waving his hand at Hashimoto.

"The dojo belongs to a young woman, of the name of Kaoru Kamiya and her apprentice Yahiko. The boy was a pickpocket and was paying off a debt to the Red Yakuza before the Battousai... rectified that."

"It's unusual that a woman would be teaching and practicing a style."Soujirou said, staring at the katana at his waist, "What can you tell me of the Battousai's woman?"

"She, she's an orphan, her mother died in her childhood while her father died slightly more than two years ago. He fought during Bakumatsu and afterwards took up teaching. Her dojo is not very successful, she has had little luck with attracting students," Hashimoto sneered.

"How interesting," Soujirou smiled at the man, "Please continue."

"A man, a former fighter for hire, also frequents. Sanosuke Sagara. As well as a woman, Megumi Takini. She was a former opium maker, who worked for a local distributor, the distributor also had the services of one Aoshi Shinomori. Before he died." Hasimoto grinned.

Nodding, Soujirou says, "Thank you for your services." There is a clink of coin, as Soujirou passes the man a small bag. Hasimoto's light up and he nods in return.

"I hope you realize the consequences if you speak of this to someone?" There is a scarping of a blade against a sheath and Hashimoto nods, and bows deeply.

There is a whisper of air moving and Hasimoto looks up and sees nothing. He whips his head around, trying to find a trace of the Tenken.

There is no one in sight. Looking down he sights only the most minute traces of footprints before the earth is torn up and disturbed. Hashimoto shivers and pockets the money. That boy, he thinks, he is far too deadly for comfort.

Frowning, he wonders what this boy has in mind. The Battousai. He must have a death wish to go up against a man like the Battousai. Hashimoto then remembers the rumours he has heard, of a dark force of power in Kyoto. A former manslayer. Another killer.

What plan was being implemented?

Shaking his head, Hashimoto starts walking back to Tokyo. It's better, safer, if he does only his orders and does not questions. It wouldn't be the first time.

* * *

Night has fallen by the time Soujirou has arrived in Tokyo. It wasn't the first time he had visited the capital, but this time, it was a first. A first because he knew that the Battousai was here.

He knew as well as any other the tales that surrounded the legendary Battousai. Shishio had downplayed them, but still, Soujirou knew that one had to be strong to gain the repuation that the Battousai had.

Bloodthirsty. The rumours that he was ten feet tall were probably false. Cruel. He most likely didn't wear the teeth of a thousand dead children either. Powerful. And he most likely didn't ravish twenty women before bed.

The people were unaware of the killer that pasted through them. Battousai or Tenken. Soujirou would be barely remembered by those who had seen him, forgotten by the morning if but for his smile.

It was dark, and fire and chatter began to dim as he entered a more residential sector. A cry of child. A dog barking. The clatter of utensils. Soothing voices, quiet voices, mothers bidding their children a good night, gentle kisses to smooth foreheads.

In the dark it was hard to see, but Soujirou made his way confidently to a tree. In one quick effortless leap he clambered up the branches. There as a near silent thud and he retreated into the shadows's of the tree's limbs.

There were quite a few hours until daylight and this was only day one of his watching. Soujirou settled in calmly, intending on taking a few hours of sleep before the sun rose.

* * *

Day soon dawned and the dojo and it's residents stirred with it. The first person up had to be the Battousai. The scar on his cheek declared him as that and Soujirou doubted there were two men at the same place with such a distinctive scar.

But... this man was small. Delicate looking almost. There was a katana at his side, yes, and his pace moved to accommadate it. And yet this man seemed like nothing compared to the stories Soujirou had been told.

His eyes were not the vivid gold that Shishio had described to him. They were purple, Soujirou wondered if the Battousai had any gaijin in him. The hair was bright and red and hung messily in a low ponytail. It wasn't the high samurai style that he should have been wearing. How could this man be the Battousai?

Soujirou watched this man make the breakfast, hang up the laundry and be scolded. Where was the manslayer? The man who killed thousands and now whose blood was still lusted over. People wanted to kill this man, his ki was strong, but he didn't act strong. Soujirou frowned slightly as he thought this over, confused.

Him! This was the Battousai and he did a woman's chores, was the Battousai so weakened by peace that he had succumb to this paltry existence.

Perhaps, Soujirou thought, he would be more receptive to Shishio than imagined. Soujirou smiled.

* * *

AN: Sorry for the delays in updating, writers block in _Fresh_ yet me hard. Thank you very much for your reviews however!

I was wondering how long any thinks this should pan out? Should we end it as the Kyoto arc begins? (which would be right now I suppose or soon) Or continue? Thanks for your thoughts!


	13. Rise

_Rise_

* * *

"You've had sake, young man, yes? Given to us from the Gods," the man smiles at Soujirou, his eyes narrowing before swallowing his sake.

He does not know why he was here; just that Shishio has sent him to this small, wrinkled old man for a reason.

The older man is lean and wiry, with wisps of white hair sticking straight around his head. His eyes are wide, almost unsuspecting and darkly milky.

Blind. Or his vision is severely impaired, Soujirou thinks, accepting the sake with a nod and quiet thanks.

Old and blind he may be, but he moves with some grace and efficiently of movement. Hands are calloused, in a way that suggests a Samurai.

There is no katana in sight, no weapon at all. The house is modestly furnished, off a back road and the neighbourhood is full of people, mothers, fathers and children. Their voices are dimly apparent at the back, with the sound of water muffling their voices and Soujirou's.

"I hear you have been recruiting boys. I don't want you to do that any more." The man sips his sake.

"If they join, it is because they are distrustful of the idiots in Tokyo, not because we are kidnapping them." Soujirou does not tell him Shishio has already told him that he must do as this man tells him, whatever it is.

"They leave their families and their jobs. They leave. They risk their lives and - "

"Just like the previous generation risked theirs. All they got was pathetic fools, this time, with Shishio leading us, their lives are justly risked."

Smiling, the man shakes his head. "Don't try and trick me, boy, I know your orders. The boys will return, I do not care how but they will. Shishio was thoughtless to attempt to blind me like that, I know his ways. He's had his fun, the boys shall be returned to their families and homes."

"I - But Shishio!" Soujirou attempts to say something, anything, but nothing comes to mind and he bows his head.

"We live and learn."

"Just, I just want to - "

"Goodbye. I do not particularly want to see you again. I doubt I will. You're skilled boy, but skill isn't all in the sword."

Soujirou looks up and frowns. What does he mean? He has practiced for hours and hours and he has improved, what else is there?

"You'll die if you don't find out." The man smiles, this time darkly, as if enjoying the emotions of Soujirou. Confused, Soujirou shakes his head.

"You're wrong, but," he pauses, "I'll do what you say. Only because Shishio wishes it, old man, and don't forget that. Your young men shall be returned." Soujirou stands.

"Strange…" Murmurs the man, his voice wry and his smile tired.

Soujirou turns and his face is questioning.

"It's just strange, boy, that these young men that you refer to." He lingers in the silence, "Are older than you, in years and more…"

Not knowing what to say, Soujirou leaves. His mind is still wondering what the old man's words mean.

* * *

He watches the men leave. Shishio has given no reason to him why he allowed these men to return to their homes and families, especially when the fight with the incompetent bureaucrats was heating up.

The young men… they were. How long had they served Shishio? How long had they been training to fight for Shishio? None… none could beat him.

Shishio had told him that the Battousai had left Tokyo, and that he was travelling to Kyoto. Soujirou was pleased, through the pace that the Battousai was taking annoyed him, through he could not tell why.

The Battousai was a legend and Soujirou savoured the moment when he would fight him. It might not be for long, for Soujirou knew the power of his blade, but it certainly would be an exhilarating experience.

Death… Soujirou had never completated what death would be like. When his relatives had kept him, death had been a thought, one he had referred to with some wanting… sometimes. However, he never took his life. Until he took theirs, death had been distant.

Now it was vivid and red, bright and bloody. It was here, it was now. Soujirou had been certain that he had known what it was, but know he was not so sure.

What would he do if he died?

There wouldn't be anything he could do and it scared him. It made him realise that death, was close, always.

Soujirou smiled, and stood.

At once, as always, he noticed that people leaned away from his presence, that they took care not to look him in the eye. As soon as people knew what he could do, they didn't like to be with him, in his company.

Honestly, Soujirou could care less about what these weaklings thought, but it panged him nonetheless. And he it made him feel worse when he didn't know why.

No one would stare, because fear kept them away.

* * *

"Here they are. Just like you wanted them. Back in their homes. You get what you wanted." Soujirou was surprised how bitter he sounded.

"Thank you."

Soujirou turns away. "I didn't do anything."

"Perhaps not." Soujirou doesn't feel any better by these words. "But it happened, and they are back and I am contented."

He turns to leave, not wanting to stay any longer.

"A long time ago I taught a young man, boy, who would grow up and become hated and feared. Shishio. Despised by both sides…" He trails off, musingly, "So he forms his own. I wonder if he ever wondered, why?"

Leaving, Soujirou closes his eyes away from the probing authority of the old man.

* * *

"Would you?"

He wasn't sure why Shishio even asked. Soujirou knew he would do whatever Shishio wanted, whatever was needed.

"Yes. Of course."

He wondered if Shishio knew that. Should he tell him? Weren't his actions enough?

Yumi sighed, her kimono rustling as she stepped forward, the rich silk moving as sensually as her lithe body.

Would he become like Yumi, never getting what he wanted the most? Soujirou's eyes flickered to where she stood, amidst the highly polished woods and jewel like fabrics. She had wrought this luxury for Shishio, for his comfort, she would do anything. She, like Soujirou, would do anything for Shishio.

He wondered if that was enough. Wanting something bad enough.

The katana dug into his side, and Shishio smiled at Soujirou.

"Shishio… it would be my pleasure."

It would have to be. There was nothing else, and Soujirou wouldn't have it any other way.

Death would have to wait until Soujirou was ready for it. That would only happen when Shishio would let go of him.

For Shishio. The bandaged man smiled, his red eyes lighting up.

"Bring death, Soujirou, kill them and make sure the word of their death is heard through out Japan. Make sure, make sure that fear will drive them into unsure actions."

Pausing, Shishio made sure Soujirou was taking in the full of his words.

"Kill them," Shishio said bluntly.

Still, Soujirou smiled.

* * *

AN: sorry for the late update.

Thank you for your reviews!  



	14. Water

_Water

* * *

_

They ran. They tried to escape. They were all fools. They could not see, that their lives were over.

Once Soujirou had the mission, their lives were null and void. He felt pleased, knowing that.

* * *

"Yes Shishio?" Soujirou bowed deeply, then straightened, always at attention, always for Shishio.

There was a lazy smirk across Shishio's face. "I need you to do one last mission for me before you attend to the other business," there was a pause, "Unexpected events... have occurred. The people responsible, their death, is now at your hands Soujirou."

"What have we lost?" He must know, to fulfill his duties correctly, to be accountable if anything goes wrong and to make sure that his never happens again.

Shishio waved a hand, "Not as much as these men will lose. It's inconsequential, but it is better to send a clear and loud message to our other associates, so they will not lose their bellies and run."

"That is a good plan Shishio." Soujirou feels the pang of pride for Shishio, knowing that this man is strong and so capable to lead. He will make a good ruler, Soujirou believes, a strong one, with no tolerance for the weak or the spineless.

"These men, they think us stupid, Soujirou. They think that I do not know exactly what they are doing." Shishio's voice hardened, grew louder with anger, "They think me a fool Soujirou. Going to the government like that. They are the fools!" He roared, "They will die!"

"Yes Shishio, they will. That I promise you." Soujirou bowed once more.

* * *

It was night, outside of a prosperous town, three man ran into the forest. Their cries had roused not one soul, in a town where it was best to keep a knife at your side when you slept.

These three men, had controlled this town. Until the smiling boy had arrived, they had no reason to fear. To run, to cower, to scream.

Twenty people had died, bodyguards, unfortunate witnesses and family members, before the rest had abandoned the unworthy men.

Soujirou could never know why they ran, their fear, was weak and their cowardice would make their deaths linger longer. It was only fitting, it was only right.

That these traitors would die tonight.

* * *

"How long do you think it will take Soujirou?" Yumi asked, her head lowered.

"Not long, it's just a slight detour, so it will only a day or three to my travels. Don't worry, Miss Yumi," he picks up his bag and smiles, "It's important to Shishio for this to be done."

"I know," she bit her lip, "Shishio... I worry about him!" Her head jerked up, her eyes beginning to tear.

She was weak, Soujirou realised, too weak maybe. "There is nothing to worry about Miss Yumi, Shishio... he is stronger than anyone."

Sighing she nods, "I understand. I suppose I'm being irrational. I can't help it. I - I love Shishio. I think you would understand that best. How love can hurt you."

There's a pause before Soujirou answers.

* * *

"Do you think," panted the shortest of the three men, "We have lost him?"

"I don't know," said the tallest, "I don't anything."

"The rumours of Shishio's assassin seem amazing," said the roundest, "Surely they can't be true?"

* * *

"I don't know. I know that I must do what Shishio says, because he is the strongest and I - I must follow him!"

Yumi nods, sadly and smiles sweetly. "Thank you Soujirou, for all that you have done."

He smiles, and for the first time, she wonders if it just might be real. Not just fake as all the others have been but truly, wholly real. It's gone in an instant, and Yumi doesn't know if what she saw was real or not.

* * *

An indistinct shadow, against the deep and powerful flow of water. They shimmer against the rapid movement of the waterfall, but the sheer strength of the waterfall blocks out any sound that is made.

Keeping quiet, Soujirou slowly but surely makes his way into the water and to the hollow, behind the water. He draws his katana above his head.

He smiles as he slashes his blade through the waterfall, through flesh. Moving quickly, Soujirou dodges the body that falls it's feet. The foot less corpse bobs in the water, as the still alive man, starts to drown as he struggles with pain and the unsteady current below the waterfall.

A quick jab, and the body stills.

* * *

Soujirou knows he is still smiling, the muscles stretching in his face attest to that. But for some reason, the rest of his body feels frozen. The sun shines brightly, warmly above and inside Soujirou feels numb.

He remembers Yumi's last farewell, and shakes his head.

"Goodbye," he says, testing the word over his tongue. Was that word really important?

Yumi, he would be seeing her again, soon. Why did she sound so sad when she murmured that so softly? It sounded so... weak.

* * *

The next man is found further downstream. He's surprising agile and quick, and Soujirou begins to enjoy himself. Breathing in the fresh night air, Soujirou's smiles deepens.

Tonight he would kill again. Jumping down lightly from his position higher up on the bank, he frowns when he lands in a small puddle, creating a splash and noise. The man in front of him stills, then whirls around, a thick, heavy dagger in his hand.

The traitor holds it determinedly. His eyes narrowed, and when he raised the blade towards Soujirou, Soujirou knows that this man has killed before.

With a quick, fast motion the dagger is deflected and Soujirou thrusts his katana through the man's ribs. The man chokes, coughing up blood, before falling still on his blade.

Stepping back, Soujirou prepares for the final kill of this night.

* * *

When Soujirou feels another person, he stops and looks behind him.

There is Shishio, clearly outlined in the setting sun, his strong powerful body dark against the last rays of the sun. His head is lifted towards the sky and the sun.

Soujirou raises his arm goodbye, but Shishio remains motionless. He wonders if Shishio saw him at all, being blinded by the sun. Or he just didn't notice Soujirou, standing down below, looking so small.

* * *

A yell, a scream, a choke for mercy.

He decapitates the man in one swift slash.

Taking a deep breath, Soujirou feels the thrill that urged him on this night, fade and die. Leaving him, alone, with his bloody katana.

Rinsing it in the water helps, but Soujirou can't help feel, that some of the blood, won't wash away. He stares at the curved blade, his smile reflecting off it dimly in the night time light, from the moon and the stars. It's a shallow light, his thoughts stray as he sheaths his katana and starts walking.


	15. Flying

_Flying

* * *

_

When Soujirou first went on a train, he couldn't believe how fast it went. It was the closest he had ever been to flying and he loved it. Soujirou could run very fast, at his fastest he could run alongside the train, but not for very long. He wanted to fly however. He dreamed of flying and for a long time it replaced his dreams of flight in the open and free sky.

When Soujirou saw birds fly, their wings moving them swiftly in the sky, he wondered what made them able to fly. At first he had solved them problem by capturing birds, hunting them.

In the end it was remarkably easy to kill the creatures. Soujirou was fast and silent and managed to sneak up on them before grasping the birds in his hands. He something squeezed, feeling the life drain out of the body. The heart beat sped up at first before slowing down.

Other time he used a knife to cut their throats and their movements stopped in one sudden jerk before the soft and bloody body sagged between his fingertips.

Then he started to learn the use the bow and arrow. Shishio made it seem so easy, to pull and release the arrow, yet Soujirou found it harder. From the quick, natural use of the katana, Soujirou was frustrated with apparent lack of proficiently with the bow.

For him it took a long time to master the bow and arrow. When he was finally prepared to shoot down birds, something he had nearly forgotten in the process, he was startled at the suddenness of how the birds dropped out of the sky.

Staring at their dead bodies, small traces of blood staining their feathers, he learnt nothing from their death. He played with their wings, up and down, yet that did not given him any insight into their marvelous skill of flight. He did not know how with one swift movement they could launch themselves up into the air and away from the heavy burdensome ground.

In a misconceived plan he had jumped off a cliff. His eyes had bulged as he had neared the ground. The air was cold and sharp and bit at his lungs. It cut through his clothing and chilled him to the bone.

The ground loomed, even through it was below him, and he would have crashed and injured himself if he wasn't so skilled. He landed, bringing his head up immediately and narrowing his eyes.

It didn't solve anything. Not really, Soujirou did not learn how to fly and just received some scrapes on his palms.

He had new respect for birds however, how they daily faced the possibility of sudden death and their hurtling towards the ground. He imagined a bird, whose only skill was flight, but was scared of heights.

Sometimes he wondered about his own skills. Shishio was brilliant and Soujirou felt incomparably low against him. Yet had managed to defeat and kill scores of fighters.

Death held no fear for him. Long ago he had faced death and proved to be his own master. When he thrust and cut, slicing through fragile skin and organs, he felt nothing.

When a blade was delivered towards him, he dodged, because he knew that he would die if he didn't. But that didn't make him scared of death. Soujirou had to realise Shishio's dream.

Perhaps then he would learn of flight.

* * *

Running, jumping, escaping was the closest thing to flight. The pure thrill and rush as he felt the air past him by was intense. The feeling of the air against his skin.

Backflipping off a wall, not because it was particularly needed, but because he loved the way he body moved and how that was expressed in his dexterity of movements.

A smooth flick of a wrist and the man was dead, his features frozen in fear and awe. Blood dried and darkened against the man's skin, and his katana was released from his over tight grip was a dull metallic thud.

He leapt from the room, landing upon a near by building's roof, his knees bents under the force before Soujirou launched himself into the air again. The air was washed against his cheeks, as he left the dead body behind.

* * *

The seemingly effortless flow of the wings flapping, akin to a heart beat, occupied his attention for some short while. Brown, white, no matter what colour, it kept them in the air, above the ground and into the skies.

Sometimes when he was wandered, or merely in the process of achieving a successful mission, he would happen upon a market place. Rarely in small squalid villages, but in larger towns and cities there would be a vender selling prized caged birds.

They would call prettily out to customers, their wings brighter and more colourful than any in the wild. One of their feet was tied down with a delicate chain to a perch, where they fluttered and never were allowed to spread their wings to the full.

Later, after he had beheaded a man whose political policies greatly opposed Shishio's, his thoughts returned to the birds, behind the wooden bars of their cages.

When he returned from the mission, he had a cage under one arm. The smile of his face didn't falter as various soldiers that Shishio had recruited stared at him with surprise.

In the morning, after a long night of studying the bird, he decided to release the bird. When he opened the cage, the bird started, and jerked forward, the chain jangling. He tore it off with one hand, the bird steps forward, it's eyes darting back and forth warily.

It spread it's wings, and Soujirou prepared for it's flight. He was not prepared for it to fail.

* * *

"It's wings are clipped, Soujirou." Yumi murmured, her voice full and rich as ever. A subtle scent of floral and musky perfume surrounded her. "It's to stop the bird from flying away, for it's freedom."

"Oh? Why would they do that?"

Yumi laughed, "You're dreadfully uneducated Soujirou," she shook her head and smiled wistfully. "These birds can be quite expensive and their voices beautiful. What man would risk losing such a treasure?"

Soujirou shrugged and smiled, his hands wrapping around the bird's neck, pressing in. "I don't think there is a reason for a bird to exist, without flight."

It wasn't the first time he had snapped a bird's neck, but Yumi's look of horror was new.


	16. Truth

_Fresh  
_

_

* * *

_

_Truth_

* * *

Soujirou smiled.

He always smiled.

It was he did. To hide his pain, to squash his emotions, to scare and confuse his enemies. He had never thought that some day, some day, someone would see through his smile.

Usually, usually, people never had any time to consider his motives, his actions, his movements. A quick movement, a slash, blood, and they were dead.

One, two, three... the bodies had continued to stack up, to crowd around him. People he had killed, without remorse, or pity. There hadn't been mercy, and Soujirou did not understand how mercy could be equated with strength.

Then he had shaken his head, remembering Shishio's words. Pity, sympathy, kindness... these were weaknesses. Soujirou could not forget.

Soujirou excelled at being fast, at being silent and deadly. He killed, that will his skill. He served Shishio, that was his purpose. It was simple. That was how he saw it. That was how it was.

There was never any doubt, any reflection, on the supposed wrongness of murder and destruction. There were orders, that he obeyed, dutifully. There was nothing else. Death was always near, and he could resist. Then, he had no desire to.

He had never questioned the orders Shishio had given. All those years ago, Shishio had given him strength, the ability to fight and be strong. This was life, this was strength, to kill, to kill, to kill.

* * *

The Battousai was _coming_.

Soujirou found himself excited. He restrained himself however, from expressing this to Yumi or Shishio. He thought perhaps that Shishio knew. Shishio would know.

They knew the Battousai's secrets. He had not killed since the furor of Revolution. Soujirou could not comprehend the weakness. His skills must surely have weakened. The katana was for killing and death, and with it, the katana would bring more violence.

* * *

Soujirou remembered, sitting, waiting and watching, perched high up in a tree. He was spying on the Battousai. Peering through a spyglass.

His senses were heightened to the Battousai, every time he heard that name: Kenshin Himura, Soujirou shivered. Back then, he had still be in great awe of the Battousai. This man was legendary across Japan.

Envied his greatness, as well as despising the weaknesses of the man that Shishio loathed. During the Revolution Kenshin Himura had killed thousands. Mibu Wolves, samurai of the Shogun, and surely, surely, someone innocent.

The Battousai had to be tainted, in such a manner. There was no possible manner that the Battousai could have remained free of death. His hands, his clothes

Kenshin Himura was the Battousai. He laughed, he cooked, he did the laundry and he did not kill. The blade was there, waiting, yet he did not kill.

Death had been the Battousai's business, and duty and dream the Battousai must have done well. His name was revered and feared across the whole of Japan.

It was what Shishio desired, for his name to be prominent, to be feared as the greatest samurai in Japan. Conquest was what Shishio believed would enable his purpose.

At first Soujirou had not know about this. The true thoughts of Shishio. First, first Soujirou had thought that Shishio wanted to change Japan. It had become weak, quickly after the Revolution. Shishio had hated the weakness. How it had been terrified of his strength, and burned his body. Shishio was strong still, powerful and dangerous. Japan was slowly, surely growing weaker and Shishio was ready to strike.

Few now remembered Shishio, believing him long dead. A burnt, damaged corpse long eaten away by insects and worms. Those who did, begged the Battousai. Sure of their own weakness. They could not reckon with the power of Shishio.

And Soujirou was ready, as Shishio's right hand man to see Shishio take his position of strength in Japan. Soujirou could see no sense in the weak ruling where the strong should. A blade was better.

* * *

Shishio bathed, and Yumi attended to him, a smug smile lighting her sensual features. Yumi was Shishio's woman. Soujirou had long acknowledged that, respected yet still wondering internally what her precise value was.

The air was heavy with steam, the faint tang of metal and blood, as well as Yumi's rich alluring scent. Soujirou remained calm, through he was eagerly looking forward to the Battousai.

He was near.

Shishio knew as well, and the man was unexpectedly amused.

Soujirou knew the plan. He would follow it to the letter, whatever the consequences. This was his duty, his loyalty to Shishio. He would not follow his own impulses.

Closer, closer.

* * *

He wasn't alone. Soujirou was entirely surprised. There had been spies watching, and from what Soujirou had gathered from Tokyo, the Battousai had the habit of attracting people.

Though, the Mibu Wolf was entirely surprising. It was almost disquieting, that these two sworn enemies of long years, were standing side by side, aligned against Shishio. It challenged the fight that has occurred at the dojo, and Soujirou promised himself, that Saito would have to be investiagted again. Soujirou wished the man would have allied himself with Shishio, there was no doubting his skill.

Soujirou, however, was assured of Shishio's strength. Shishio had never been defeated, that Soujirou had seen.

There couldn't be doubts.

* * *

Arrogance would lead to his downfall. It was going accordingly to plan. However, and a quick glance at Shishio, revealed that another aspect of their plan was not going according to plan.

The man boasted about death count, and yet was not even able to ensure that the Battousai unleashes one of his techniques on himself. Soujirou still smiled. It would go well. He believed it.

The Wolf was seemed quite casual, yet Soujirou that one movement that left himself undefended and there would be a blade at his throat. Soujirou knew he was quicker but, and had no worries.

The girl, judging from her outfit, was a ninja, was not a threat.

Shishio's orders would go on as planned.

* * *

He was strong. There was doubt of that, and yet his blade was reversed, Soujirou's eyes narrowed slightly at that. What was the purpose of a blade that did not kill?

That was the purpose of a katana, to slay, to be strong, to kill. That was the purpose!

The Battousai went into a familiar stance, Soujirou mirroring his motions. The Battousai would not kill.

Their blade met. Broken in half, Himura's blade fell and embedded itself in the ground with a dull thunk. Victory spread through his body.

Crack.

His blade destroyed. The fight was over.

Soujirou smiled, watching Himura heave, eyes intent on his ruined katana.

He had to report to Shishio now.

* * *

AN: Thank you everyone for your reveiws. 


End file.
